Locked In Arms
by ConsultingWriter
Summary: John and Sherlock find themselves locked in a bathroom and they don't quite get out... Johnlock fluff! Enjoy! :D This was the first fan fiction I had ever written, so be kind, please! Cover art creds go to whomever made it.


Don't ask me how the hell this happened. It's completely unexplainable. All you need to know is that Sherlock was having problems with his hair and he needed my help. Of course, he picks the one he knows nothing about hair-except for, like, how to wash it.

"You know, this is all your fault!" "My fault? Your the one who cared so much about his hair!" "Yes, we'll you're the one who agreed to help me!" "Yeah, because you were going to start crying and saying I'm a terrible friend!" We went on like that for ages. Yelling and blaming each other. It felt good to yell at him, and for some reason, I could tell he wasn't actually mad.

It'd been like that for a while, though. Me-understanding Sherlock. Doing the impossible. I had a certain power over him now, something to use to my advantage. It wasn't long until he broke down, and started yelling and kicking the door. "That is what children do, Sherlock, they kick things when they can't solve problems.

It occurred to us about twenty minutes after being locked in that we could use our phones, but then we realized that's we are both pure genius. I left my phone in my coat, and Sherlock's didn't have signal-but it never really does. "Let's just calm down. If anything, they'll find us in the morning."

"We are literally maybe around thirty steps from our front door! And we're shoved in a dirty bathroom!" "At least it smells good." Sherlock gave me a selfish look. One he gives when you say something clever and he feels envious because he didn't come up with it. This was a side affect of knowing someone understands you. Very common in conceded brilliance like Sherlock.

Sherlock started to stare at me, like a death stare. I gave him a look. He stopped pacing for the first time in hours. He put his back against the door and slid down, letting his head hang between his knees. I could tell he was very upset, or having some sort of deteriorating emotion that would eventually break him down into a series of cries and wails that I would then calm with my comfort.

After about an hour of silence, it was broken. "What time is it?" I asked. Sherlock slouched to an uncomfortable level against the door and pulled out his phone. "Nine forty-three." It was going to be a very long night.

"I feel like this will take a while." Sherlock mumbled under his breath as if it takes immense labour to create words-it was all about his position on the ground. His whole body flat, legs crossed. He kicked his shoes off after a while. He had surprisingly not stinky feet. His head was vertical against the door, which is what made his voice low and rumbling.

"What will?" "The night and it's passing." "oh." I spoke softly. I have learned that the less you yell around Sherlock, the less he yells. "What do we do?" "I don't know." "Truth or dare?" Sherlock didn't reply. He just sat there. So I fallowed. I sat there, staring at the writing on the walls. Phone numbers-mostly.

I would have dared Sherlock to call one of them if a) he had signal and b) we were playing but c) if we had signal we wouldn't be calling random numbers we would be at home, probably doing nothing, just as we were now. Not much difference. Just a bit more comfortable.

Maybe, to be fair, it was inevitable. It was impossible, but it happened. I don't know. He just was sitting there, and me right next to him. Then he said "Dare me." and I said "Tell me the truth." and he didn't ask anymore questions he just looked at me, his clever ass coming up with a sly way to say it. And he sure as hell did.

"Tell the truth. I assume you mean for me to the truth about whatever I want?" I nodded. "Well, there has been something I've been meaning to say, to you." I was looking at the walls full of numbers. There were hundreds, some scratched out, some words. I never dared look at him, I couldn't. At least not until he finished.

"I need you to look at me, John." I didn't move. I couldn't-I was frozen. I had no clue what he was going to say, but I was still frozen, because Sherlock was going to tell me something serious. "Please?" I couldn't move. I could feel him move up, and closer. His hand hit my chin, and I could move. I could move a lot. I was like, jam.

He didn't say anything. His truth wasn't words, but actions. A gesture, I guess. He hesitated at first, but then I got lost in the galaxies that fill his eyes again. Lost in space, trying to find my way back, but before I could, we were already kissing. The warmth of his body holding mine. Hands on arms, then hands, then faces, then legs and backs. Locked in a bathroom; locked in arms.

This wasn't the most conventional place to do this, but we did. We stopped, he smiled a goofy smile and I sat there in shock. Mainly because, from what I've seen and heard, Sherlock Holmes isn't very keen on, like any form of relationship. But I feel bad for everyone who had a chance because he is very nice. His touch is gentle, and his kiss is wonderful.

And in that moment, our foreheads leaning on one another, our eyes fixed, lost in our tiny galaxies, I felt like I loved him. I closed my eyes and leaned in, and he agreed and we just spent our night, kissing now and again. Lying in the floor together. Lights off. The darkness helped us imagine the stars in each other's eyes, rather than seeing them ourselves-to create a better, bigger picture of our little spacious galaxies.

The way his fingers danced on my skin, and his lips on mine, and my neck. It all felt to good to be true. Too sweet to be candy. Too open to be space, and we were much too close to be in a tiny bathroom. We heard a door open, and then footsteps. A man fumbled with his keys and we heard the door unlock. We jumped up and turned on the lights as the handle bent. We were free at last. Free to continue somewhere other than a dirty bathroom floor. But we didn't, we just smiled and relaxed our aching bodies. Still lost in our galaxies.

I was right about one thing, I understood him. And he unto me. And we held hands and watched tele and just had a wonderful night of being lost, and happy. And it was truly wonderful.


End file.
